


And No Further

by manic_intent



Series: Lines in the Sand [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Because crack, Commander Cullen's blood pressure, Dorian "Prove I'm not a Virgin" Pavus, M/M, That fic where there's a different outcome to Blackwall's Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Whatever it is</i>,” Evelyn said triumphantly, “There’s our solution. Cullen’s a virgin.”</p><p>Cullen reddened to the roots of his hair. “Uh, I… well, I would rather, ah, we resorted to, other means, maybe Leliana, or Josephine’s connections, or-“</p><p>“Pfft,” Evelyn <i>had</i> been spending far too much time with Sera of late, usually balanced up on the roof of the tavern and eating cookies, of all things. “You know how things will go. Someone or other out there will bitch about how we used our powers for evil, or whatever it is. This is actually within the rules.”</p><p>“Boss,” Bull said blandly, while Cullen tried to stammer another excuse, “You’re still the best. But also evil. In a great way. I like it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And No Further

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Blackwall/Male, Saved from Execution by a virgin:
> 
> “Back in the Middle Ages, there was a tradition in some countries, that if a man who was to be executed was approached by an unmarried (virgin) woman who would put a white handkerchief on his head and declared that he belonged to her not to the executioner, the man would be pardoned and given to her as a husband.
> 
> Let's say that there used to be a practice like that in Ferelden, that is however mostly forgotten about. So imagine everyone's surprise when, as the executioner lifts his sword to cut Blackwall's head off, Commander Cullen throws himself between Blackwall and the executioner and declares that nuh-uh, piss off, Blackwall is his. 
> 
> I'll also take Dorian (prove I'm not a virgin, prove it!!) or Krem.”
> 
> This is quite possibly the greatest prompt in the kink meme.

I.

Orlesian jails were dank and filthy, and Dorian tried not to breathe _too_ quickly through his nose as he lingered awkwardly in the guardhouse room, listening to Evelyn argue with Commander Cullen. Cullen was wavering between being the stern Inquisition Commander and being the lovelorn swain, desperate for the approval of the apple of his eyes, and Dorian was starting to lose his patience.

“I’m going to see the prisoner,” Dorian informed them, and Evelyn glanced at him for a moment, puzzled, before Cullen cleared his throat. She looked from Cullen to Dorian and then to Bull, who was standing quiet and still in the guardhouse, then to Varric, who raised his eyebrows.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Evelyn blushed a little, bless her heart. “I forgot. Sorry, Dorian. I should’ve asked first. I was just so… so _angry_. I forgot.”

“No, no. I’m sure he absolutely deserved whatever you had to say to him, Inquisitor.” 

“ _Someone_ could have reminded me,” Evelyn looked pointedly at Varric, who sighed. 

“You’re not dragging me into _this_ one, Eve.” 

Dorian slipped out of the guardhouse room when Evelyn scowled, her impulsive nature already simmering close to boiling over. The cell block was mostly unoccupied, and the few prisoners that sat within, waiting execution or judgment, were unresponsive and quiet, ignoring him as he sauntered through the dank corridors to the back of the block. 

Blackwall - Thom Rainier - didn’t glance up when Dorian drew close. He looked like a broken man, broad shoulders hunched to make himself seem smaller, head bowed, hands limp over his knees. “Save it, Dorian,” Blackwall said quietly. 

“So only the Inquisitor has the right to give you a piece of her mind?” Dorian asked, a little tightly, starting to grow offended despite himself.

“No. I’ve no… call to stop any man or woman from saying what he thinks of me. I meant,” Blackwall took in a harsh breath, “Don’t bother wasting your time. Save it. Forget about all this. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For?”

“For all the lies. Shouldn’t have touched… all those times…” Blackwall exhaled. “I was weak. Never seen anyone like you before.”

“People from Tevinter _are_ rather rare south of-“

“No! Not that,” Blackwall interrupted harshly. “You’re handsome, all right? So fucking pretty, some days I’m not sure that you’re even _real_ , let alone allowing me to… Happy now? I’m _sorry_.” 

Despite himself, Dorian’s mouth curled into a wry smile. Even after the oasis, their trysts had always been initiated only when Dorian made the first move, and the disbelief in Blackwall’s eyes, badly hidden by his gruff words, was always good for the ego. “My dear man,” Dorian said dryly, “I didn’t come to you because I thought you were a Warden. That’s always been one of the least interesting things about you to me.”

Blackwall bit out a laugh, humourless and bitter. “I’m an honorless liar, a thief of another man’s name. Is _that_ interesting?”

“Still not as interesting as what you’re packing in your breeches,” Dorian said lightly, but Blackwall continued to scowl, not even lifting his head. “You saved the life of a man out there. That’s something.”

“It was long due. It wasn’t courage, or anything. Go, Dorian. Tell the others I’m sorry.”

Maudlin to the last. Dorian sighed, and made his way back to the guardhouse room, where the dynamic seemed to have changed: Varric was grinning, his eyes sharp with barely held mirth, Bull was looking bemused, and Evelyn had a hand up over Cullen’s breastplate, her eyes intent on his face, which was flushed pink.

Dorian coughed. “So. We do have a plan, don’t we?”

“‘Course we do,” Evelyn smiled, and Dorian had seen that smile before, that lover’s smile that Evelyn only reserved for the onset of mayhem, usually dragon-related. “Varric here reminded me that there’s an old Val Royeaux rule. Condemned men can be saved by a virgin who puts forward an objection on the execution block, blah, something about a white shirt.”

“White _handkerchief_ ,” Varric corrected. “Not hard to find about here. The virgin puts it on the condemned man’s head. Rite of purity.”

“ _Whatever it is_ ,” Evelyn said triumphantly, “There’s our solution. Cullen’s a virgin.”

Cullen reddened to the roots of his hair. “Uh, I… well, I would rather, ah, we resorted to, other means, maybe Leliana, or Josephine’s connections, or-“

“Pfft,” Evelyn _had_ been spending far too much time with Sera of late, usually balanced up on the roof of the tavern and eating cookies, of all things. “You know how things will go. Someone or other out there will bitch about how we used our powers for evil, or whatever it is. This is actually within the rules.”

“Boss,” Bull said blandly, while Cullen tried to stammer another excuse, “You’re still the best. But also evil. In a great way. I like it.”

“Well there we go. I’m not a virgin, Bull’s not, Dorian’s not, Varric… um…”

“Nope.” Varric grinned. “Sorry, Curly. You’re on your own.”

“I… I really don’t think…”

“Aww. It’ll totally work,” Evelyn said enthusiastically. “Look at what happened at Halamshiral! It was like a feeding frenzy around you. Imagine everyone’s faces when you get up there. Josephine will be _inundated_ by love letters again. It’s the _best_ idea. Sera and I sat up late and read them all the last time. She laughed so much she nearly fell off the roof!”

“Inquisitor-“

“You’ll do it for me, won’t you?” Evelyn asked, wide eyed, layering on the breathlessness too thickly, Dorian thought, and not nearly as subtle as any one of Halamshiral’s various perfumed butterflies, but Cullen bit down on his lower lip and looked a little wild-eyed for a moment before he sighed. 

“If there’s no other alternative…” 

“Taking one for the team. That’s right honourable,” Bull rumbled. “Varric can write it into one of his books.”

Cullen paled. “Maker, please no.”

Dorian decided that the Commander had been tortured quite enough. Besides, the poor man looked like he was about to faint, and there were no crowds involved quite yet. ”I’ll do it.” 

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder at him. “But you’re not a-“

“And how is anyone going to prove it, eh?” Dorian drawled. 

“… True.”

“Blackwall might say something,” Varric noted.

“But he’s already being condemned as a liar,” Cullen said quickly, painfully relieved, though he looked uncertain. “Ah. If you’re truly going to…”

“Yes, yes,” Dorian said reassuringly. “Besides, I think you might faint if you had to walk up on stage and declare… matters… to all and sundry, and also,” he added dryly, “I think the Inquisitor might ruin everything by dying of laughter in the crowd.”

“Still a possibility,” Evelyn admitted, grinning. “Sorry Dorian. I’ll try to control myself.”

“I’ll teach you a Ben-Hassrath meditative trick,” Bull offered. “Whenever you want to laugh, just think about dragon vomit. What?” he asked, when Evelyn blinked at him. “Worst smell ever.”

“You know,” Dorian said slowly, “I’m never entirely sure sometimes whether you’re lying through your teeth or being utterly serious.”

II.

Evelyn had kept a woodenly straight face, all the way until they were safely out of Val Royeaux and an hour’s ride into the road to Skyhold, and then the laughter had brimmed out of her, from little chuckles at first into hearty, belly-aching laughter, and they’d had to call a stop while Evelyn dismounted and sat down on a rock while Cullen patted her on the back.

Blackwall watched it all, grim and sullen, but Bull smiled faintly and Varric said, “You know, Sparkly, if you ever decide you need another career, you could do really well on the stage.”

“I’m just that good at everything,” Dorian admitted. “It’s a curse.”

“That…” Evelyn gasped. “That part where Blackwall said you weren’t a virgin-“ her words collapsed back into helpless laughter. 

“Had to ad lib on the spot. Not my best work.” 

“‘ _How could you say such a thing, my love_ ,’” Evelyn wheezed, mimicking Dorian’s feigned tones of hurt indignation, and would have rolled off the rock laughing if Cullen hadn’t steadied her quickly. 

“Maybe you should drink some water,” Cullen said worriedly.

“You’ve made a farce of the justice system,” Blackwall said flatly. “Everyone will know that the Inquisition twists laws to suit its own purposes.”

Instead of calming her down, as Blackwall no doubt hoped, this only brought out fresh peals of helpless laughter, and Varric said, “Well, we did have an actual virgin in this company, but he probably would’ve had stage fright, so Dorian was kind of like a stand in.” 

“Yes, thank you, Varric,” Cullen muttered, flushing again.

“I was a _great_ stand in.” Dorian declared.

“You were pretty awesome,” Bull agreed. “I nearly laughed, and _I_ was thinking of dragon vomit. Very hard.”

“I didn’t want your help!” Blackwall snapped bitterly. “This was my chance to atone! Mine!” 

“Oh, shut it,” Evelyn said, in between gulps for air, straightening up from the rock. “Fine. You made an awful mistake, killed a lot of innocent people… but you’ve spent what, all your life since then trying to make up for it?”

“I spent it hiding!”

“If you believed that,” Evelyn retorted, “You’d have travelled to the Free Marches, or to Rivain or somewhere further away and lived your life! Not shoulder one which had a burden like this. Look,” Evelyn added, when Blackwall let out a frustrated sigh. “The way I see this is. Clearly, when you were Thom Rainier, you were a right tit.” Dorian bit down on his lip, even as he saw Varric carefully cover his mouth, as if to hide a grin. “And then some Warden came along and did the usual thing that Wardens do with arseholes. So. After we deal with Corypheus, you head on to Weisshaupt and undergo the Joining. _Actually_ become Warden Rainier.”

Blackwall blinked a few times, startled, then he bowed his head. “By your will, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t thank me. You might die doing it.” Evelyn climbed back up onto her horse. “And there’s still the Calling. Eventually.”

“It’s still more than I deserve.” 

“Oh, pfft. Don’t keep going on like that,” Evelyn said with a dismissive wave. “I’ve just had an unexpectedly _great_ end to a day that _you_ started badly by pissing all over it. Leaving us with just a Maker-damned note, indeed! Don’t ruin it all over again. Now is there anything else?”

“No…” Blackwall began, but at Evelyn’s pointed look, added, with a sigh. “I don’t appreciate the intervention, Inquisitor. But I do appreciate the thought…?”

“Not quite the ‘thank you everyone for saving my sorry life’ I was looking for, but fine. Let’s get back to Skyhold,” Evelyn said expansively. “I’ve got to tell Sera _all_ about this. She’s going to be _kicking_ herself for deciding not to come along.”

Cullen reddened again. “Oh, please don’t.”

III.

Dorian let Blackwall hide in the barn for half a week before he finally wandered over to check on him, and found the not-Warden at his makeshift workbench, sanding down something. The wooden griffin had been pushed aside, and tools were scattered among wood shavings on the table.

Blackwall glanced up sharply when Dorian took a step further, then he set down whatever he was working on and got to his feet. He looked… worn, for want of a better work, and tired, _smaller_ , somehow, like a man thrust into an ill-fitting skin. “Dorian.”

“You look terrible.”

Blackwall barked out a harsh laugh. “As in, now that everyone knows what I did and despises me for it? No. S’pose I _don’t_ look like a bed of roses.”

“Only if someone trimmed it into a bear shape,” Dorian drawled, but this only got a humourless twitch to Blackwall’s mouth. “So. Do I call you ‘Blackwall’ still? Or ‘Rainier’?”

“Call me what you want,” Blackwall said tonelessly. “You’re the one who intervened.”

“Only because our dear Inquisitor was angling to manipulate Commander Cullen into embarrassing himself for her own amusement. Not that he actually does need help with that,” Dorian amended, for while Commander Cullen was, fine, perhaps indeed the most handsome member of the Inquisition, he was also hopelessly in love with a woman whose only real interest in life outside of killing Corypheus was dragonslaying. 

Blackwall snorted. “Either way.” 

“And now you get to be a real Warden,” Dorian continued. “Like all the other condemned criminals and hapless mages.”

“Is that what you think of Wardens?”

“Well,” Dorian said evenly, “The only real ones I’ve ever met were either turning to blood magic or-“

“Watch what you say.” 

“Besides,” Dorian added, just as evenly, “Given where I come from, I have to believe in second chances.”

Blackwall’s expression twisted briefly, then he looked away. “You’ve never done anything like what I have. You _left_ it all. Rejected everything you were brought up in, rather than give in.”

“It’s not as grand as all that,” Dorian said gently. “If my father hadn’t tried to pull that nasty blood magic trick on me, I might still be there. Eating peeled grapes and everything.”

“I don’t believe that,” Blackwall said, again with that blunt honesty. “You’re a better man than I am.”

“And,” Dorian dared to walk closer, touching the tips of his fingers to Blackwall’s left arm, trailing it up to his shoulder when all Blackwall did was tense up, “You’re a better man now than you think. Saving that man like that. It took courage.”

“No. Waiting all this while? That was cowardice.” 

“Like I said,” Dorian said, leaning up, “I have to believe in second chances.” 

Blackwall let out a soft, inarticulate sound and abruptly dragged Dorian closer, mouth descending, the kiss a crush of lips and a scrape of teeth, raw with flayed guilt and temper, but the next was an apology, and the last, gentle, almost sweet.

“I can’t believe that you declared to Val Royeaux that you were a virgin,” Blackwall murmured, as Dorian pressed another closemouthed kiss between them. “You bloody liar.”

“Wasn’t I convincing?”

“Not in the least,” Blackwall growled. “Someone who looks the way you do, a virgin?”

“Cullen’s a virgin.”

“Cullen used to be a templar.”

“The Order doesn’t require vows of celibacy.” 

Blackwall snorted. “Cullen grew up as a templar on an island - Calenhad Circle - then transferred to a fortress on an island - Kirkwall Circle, then came here. Besides,” Blackwall added, “Fairly sure he won’t be a virgin for much longer. Maybe. Once we run out of dragons to slay.”

“Don’t tell that to the Inquisitor, she might panic and decide to move the Inquisition base to Nevarra posthaste.” Dorian smiled faintly as Blackwall bent for another kiss, and this was dangerously pleasant, just them, with the solid heat of Blackwall’s frame, immovable against his, the raw strength held within Blackwall’s arms, curled around the small of Dorian’s back. “You asked Evelyn to keep calling you ‘Blackwall’.”

“I’ve gotten used to it, aye. As a title, though. Not a name.”

“‘Thom’ is not a bad name,” Dorian noted gently. “It’s one that you wore before, when you made your mistakes, certainly. But it’s still your name, truer than your ‘title’. You have to live with your mistakes, not just atone for them. And,” Dorian added, when Blackwall seemed set to object, “I’ve heard of the man you used to be. I’ve known the man you tried to be. I think I would be interested to know the man you will become,” he murmured, as he kissed Blackwall on the edge of his mouth. “Thom Rainier.”

“You’ll be disappointed.”

“I don’t think so, somehow.” Dorian said, with a faint smile. “He seems all right so far.” 

Blackwall’s eyes were unreadable, and he sucked in a slow, harsh breath, then he sighed, and kissed Dorian on the forehead, in a slow and lingering brush of his lips. It was, in a way, the answer that Dorian had sought, as Blackwall’s hands clenched tight against the small of his back, then splayed wide and stroked with a lover’s wandering intimacy up to his hips.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


End file.
